When I visited Ssadie in Idaho last summer, I was a runner. She was not. She'd go to the gym with me and hike with me, but the few times I tried to get her to run with me, it just wasn't happening.
But since I've been down with this (motherfuckinggoddamnitshit) heel injury, she's picked up her running shoes. Oh, and roller skates, too, since she's now a derby queen.
This weekend, she ran her first race, a 12K. She love it, of course, and came back with this little story:
About .5 mile from the finish I heard a man clapping and hooting (like a gazillion other spectators). "You're all amazing, keep going!" he cheered, "Almost there, it's a blessed miracle you're running today!"
I turned my face to send him a weary smile, and I saw him; an old man, perched awkwardly on a stool. He was an amputee.
It's hard to run and cry at the same time. fyi.
Subscribe, Bitches!
Posts
Comments
Why, hello.
- Ells (aka Serialmono)
- Take one girl, born and bred in Oregon.
Sprinkle in some smelly dogs, add a southern boy, pack up a trailer and ship them all off to South Carolina.
Here's where (instead of writing about running, as I'd originally planned) I write about moving from the Pacific Northwest to the Deep South.
I'm totally scared of bugs and humidity, but I love me some hush puppies.
Omygod. I'm all veklempt. Plus, I feel like a total asshole for being too lazy and uninspired to go running more often. I'm all, "It's haaarrd." But I have feet, so I should stop being a whiny bitch.